The fitting model
by Sverige Susan
Summary: Yuuri Katsuki was never an outstanding person. He was average at his best. However, one day a fashion designer asks him to become his fitting model and his world changes radically.
1. Chapter 1

**The fitting model**

* * *

Fashion was a cruel world ruled by pretense and a touch of luxury. From a very new pair of sunglasses, to some shiny shoes made in a factory somewhere in Europe, as stated on their label.

Yuuri used to avoid the advertisements every time he clicked down in a YouTube video and he ignored every brand new product that would be printed on a bus stop. He never had an eye for fashion to begin with. He wasn't willing to sacrifice a nice pair of comfortable shoes he bought in an outlet store for that "popular" brand, which were rather expensive and most of the time uncomfortable to wear. He loved his feet after all.

However, there were those times where he would end up going to stores with his friend Pichit who knew the name of each brand and product one could find in stores like Saks. He often sat in a corner, marveling at how ten people could get into a fight over a plain shirt as if it was the seventh wonder of the world. Yuuri could even put money on the fight just to keep things interesting. Though he didn't understand how people would go from fighting over a piece of clothing and then practically six months later have the same piece of clothing end up discarded.

From time to time, several items would occasionally catch his eye. They looked nice and he went and tried them on sometimes, only to find that they either didn't fit him, they made him look ridiculous, or both. Since he was still a child he hardly found clothing that would suit his chubby body. It was frustrating to no end. He was just slightly bigger than the average Japanese and looked skinner than the average American. But every time he tried some clothes in those 'nice fashion stores', he would leave not even fifteen minutes later feeling miserable and fatter than a pig.

Why did he even bother to look? He didn't need anything. Every single item in his closet was always clean and looked stylish on him. His style had no brand, no glamour and even so, in the crowded places he felt special because in a world of brands he was unique in his own way.

Sometimes he thought it was a torture what his friend Pichit went through in order to wear a coat with an European tag. How was it pronounced? Balmaino, bailman, batman? He didn't bother to remember the names. He saw how his friend starved himself a few weeks to enter into that and a few weeks more to afford the item itself.

Why to buy something so expensive if you had to sacrifice basic needs as food? He didn't understand, perhaps he never would.

He took his bag and went for a walk. It was snowing in New York and the cold wasn't precisely something he enjoyed but it was indeed better than staying home watching catwalks with Pichit all day long.

The crowded city always made him feel as a tiny ant wondering if a foot would come over him and kill him in a shot. It wasn't he didn't like the sights the city had, but sometimes it felt too much to live in the capital of the world where everyone seems to be so rich and powerful when you are like a shadow of a nothing a wall.

He often wondered how he had decided to study Arts here and not staying in Japan, where he didn't have to struggle with language barriers neither cultural shocks.

He entered central park and wandered around with no path in particular. At night the place was indeed beautiful and one could enjoy a peaceful time with no many people running.

Yuuri then saw a man sitting on a bench nearby the frozen lake. He looked so aristocratic with a coat of black fur, sunglasses and a cup of Starbucks on one hand and a purse on the other, both perfectly held by leather gloves. However, it was not what he was wearing but his hair what caught his eye. It was as if stars were falling from heaven and dancing to the earth. It looked so silky and perfect. He touched his own hair, with a few knots and a few split ends and felt ashamed.

Yuuri took his drawing book from his bag and sat in front of the man. His hand started to draw lines on the hellish paper, sketching the stranger as accurate as possible and adding shades and lights with what a cheap pencil could do. A few minutes went by until the drawing took shape. Yuuri touched the paper in an approbatory way before looking to his front and the city lights beyond.

The man stood up, throwing his coffee cup and bag to a nearby container.

Yuuri picked his things and ran to the container, using a few Kleenex to take the bag out and clean it. Then he ran after the man as fast as his chubby body allowed him.

"E-excuse me sir," he said, barely reaching the stranger. He felt so nervous. His thick accent decided to pop up at the worst times and his baggy clothing made him look like a homeless man, no offense meant. "Droppu this!" Yuuri held the purse in his palms as a broken English emanated from his mouth.

The person arched a perfect brow under his sunglasses.

"You can keep it, it's from last season. It's worthless now." The man kept his steady walk, not even glancing Yuuri's way.

Yuuri held his breath and his politeness soon morphed into anger.

He remembered how much his family had to work to afford his major in the United States. How much he had to study to keep his scholarship and how he had to work afterwards to have a piece of food to eat.

"N- n-nothing is worthless!" he raised his voice, loud enough to be heard at the distance. "Do you have any idea how many children could be fed with what this thing costs? You must be kidding me!" in an outburst of emotion Yuuri threw the item directly to the stranger, not minding if it happened to hit his face by mistake, not that he cared even if it did.

"Instead of throwing these things to the trash you should be helping someone!" Yuuri yelled out as his hands turned white at the knuckles as a result of how angry he currently was. He turned and left, running until he became a subtle shadow among the busy crowd and the city lights.

* * *

 _ **A/N: Thanks to the lovely JballinR12 for being an awesome beta. And thank YOU for reading.**_


	2. Chapter 2

**The fitting model** **II**

* * *

The first naughty sunshine touched the window in his room by the time his phone rang. He growled in a husky voice with a mix of tiredness and sleep. His week had sucked so badly. Midterm exams and projects rained like cats and his eyes were puffy for staying awake at least seventy-two hours straight with no rest. Yuuri had somehow survived the week and felt as a soldier that had won a war, tired and like a walking corpse. He hit his old nokia phone stronger than intended before he turned on his side and hid his face in a sea of white blankets and pillows.

The bip ringtone from his phone echoed through his bedroom twice more, lamely ignored among the night lamp and an empty can of redbull. By the third time it rang, he heard a voice at the distance but couldn't distinguish the words or if it was part of his mid-sleep state of mind.

Yuuri felt how a weight laid next to him in bed. In a matter of seconds the warmth of the blankets was gone, leaving a chill behind. He growled again, searching for his shelter with clumsy hands.

"Yuuri, your ringtone is so annoying! Please get up already and turn it off!"

Yuuri whispered a few swearing words in his native language, fully awake and grumpy as a good late sleeper he was. He searched for his glasses and read the number on the display. He had the policy to answer only the five numbers of his contacts, otherwise he had to hang up to avoid unwanted people to call him. He read the number twice trying to remember if he had given his contact information to a schoolmate, but he didn't. The black haired guy hang up immediately and turned the old device off, green screen light fading along a fourth incoming call.

"Who was it?"

"I don't know. Perhaps a call center trying to make me miserable with their new products."

"Oh, maybe it was a hot Russian asking you out, who knows. You really should answer your calls."

Yuuri rolled his eyes, not even daring to make a reply. He still felt tired but all traces of sleep were gone. He cursed in Japanese again. It seemed it had become a habit of his to swear in the mornings.

A growl came from his stomach, as clear and loud as if a raging lion was trapped inside him. Pichit laughed hearty as he walked to the other side of the room.

"Let's go eat somewhere cool! I'm sickly tired of eating tuna fish and lettuce. Geez, we deserve a nice food and a drink after all the suffering we've been through," the Thai put a hand on his forehead, dramatic stance prominent as he walked to his bed and let himself fall.

"Pichit, I'd love to but you already know I'm broke," he played with his thumbs in an ashamed way.

"Don't worry, today is my treat," Pichit winked at him, a charming smile upon his lips.

Yuuri gave him a thankful and sincere smile. Even though they had only met a year ago he didn't know what he would do without his best friend.

He began to make his bed, still lazy and scruffy from rolling in sleep.

"Yuuri, you look so cute when you sleep!"

The Japanese stood in silence several seconds before he realized Pichit's phone still had the flash on and his friend was tapping something suspicious extremely fast.

"Pichit, you did not!"

"Sorry Yuuri, you know just how I am!" the Thai ran for his dear life.

Yuuri took his words back. He was going to kill that asshole.

* * *

Pichit put his beer in front him, bubbly yellow foam falling on the edges of the cup. Five minutes later he still tried to decide which filter was perfect for an Instagram post.

Yuuri bit into his pizza hoping to finish it while he tried to ignore the chill on his back. He had been rather uncomfortable but decided to let the feeling go because he was eating. Now with the pizza gone he had no way to conceal his nuisance.

A sound of notification came from Pichit's phone before the Thai looked at him, with a serious expression on his face.

"Yuuri, I think that guy wants to fuck you…"

"Pichit!" Yuuri covered his crimson face with his hands, feeling beyond mortified.

"He's been staring you pretty much since we arrived. He doesn't look bad though. I can tell he's wearing Dior clothing and Louis Vuitton shoes."

"Pichit you can't be serious! People like that don't eat in places like this one."

"Well he does! And he is coming for your ass right now!"

The man shortened the distance in an elegant way. His fancy shoes announcing his arrival to their table. Yuuri froze as he counted the steps behind him. Nine, ten and eleven until everything went silent. He didn't dare to turn around.

Pichit's eyes traveled from his friend to the stranger in front them, almost as if he was watching a tennis match and following the ball.

"Good evening gentlemen," the man greeted in a thick Italian accent. Yuuri encouraged himself to turn around. The Japanese felt as if he trapped inside the Casablanca movie. The man didn't look like the kind of normal people one found on the streets and his Japanese instincts were telling him to run away.

"Please, forgive me for disturbing you. My name is Michael Alessi and I work for IMG Model Agency," the man extended a business card in black with elegant shaped gold letters that Pichit took immediately with shaky hands.

"I'm Yuuri Katsuki and this is my friend, Pichit Chulanont," they shook hands and Yuuri noticed the Italian had more gold rings than all his family together.

"I have been watching you for a while and I have realized you actually fit into the kind of… models we are looking for," the man paused, staring directly into Yuuri's nervous glance, "I would like to book a meeting to talk more about it if it is fine for you."

Yuuri eyed Pichit from the corner of the eye. The Thai encouraged him by kicking one of his legs under the table.

"T-thank you for your interest," Yuuri answered, barely holding a pained growl "I hope it is fine if I take a time to think about it."

"Of course," Alessi said, "Please call me as soon as you make your decision," he smiled, perfect pearl teeth shining against the lights.

"Have a good night," he extended a hand towards Yuuri. The Japanese slapped his forehead mentally, remembering American etiquette was different than his own. He shook the man's hand and a few seconds later Alessi walked away.

Yuuri breathed again when the man was out of the place. He felt how his shoulders descended slowly as a hearty smile crafted his lips.

They left the place shortly after, Pichit looking ghostly pale.

* * *

They entered their department in silence. Each drifting in their thoughts of the day, way too tired to do anything but sleeping soundly.

Yuuri took his sweater and pants to get changed into his pajamas. He didn't even bother to brush his teeth, he went straight to bed. The air was cold and he was sure the window had a gap somewhere near the corners. Snow fell silently and he marveled with the snowflakes for a while until he heard the bedroom door closing.

Pichit sat in his own bed, rubbing his hands. The poor Thai hadn't got used to the northern weather either.

Yuuri encouraged himself and spoke for the first time in hours.

"Can you believe it? Me, a model?" He started to laugh.

"Yu-Yuuri…"

"A fat and short Japanese nobody as a model. What a joke! Perhaps I can walk for a supermarket in a pig motley!" he laughed louder.

"Yuuri!"

"I haven't even wore a suit in my whole life!" He touched his now aching belly as he held back his tears, "I can't even fit into a normal pair of jeans!"

"Yuuri!" the Thai held his friend by the shoulders, forcing Yuuri to stare directly to his ink black eyes. "Yuuri, listen. To be honest, at first I thought it was a joke too. I've been googling this person's name since we arrived and all the info in the business card is accurate," the Thai swallowed before he went on, "I know you hate anything related to fashion but this is serious. The Agency trying to hire you is extremely powerful. They have made contracts with Karlie Kloss, Gisele Bündchen, Alek Wek and many others. Perhaps you don't know them, but money speaks for them. This is a life time chance you can't let slip through your fingers!"

"Pichit, please. I don't care about these Karlie and Gisele European-mouth-twister-surname you're talking about. I don't want to drop my major in order to wear fancy clothes."

"Yuuri, you don't need to leave the University. Think of this as a part time job… A very well paid one. It's more than a matter of wearing jaw-dropping fancy clothes all day long, you're helping someone to sell stuff by lending your image."

"Nighty night!" Yuuri said as he turned the lights off.

Pichit sighed in defeat and a few minutes went by in an uncomfortable silence.

Yuuri listened to the cars in the distance, probably from the nearby road, and his mind traveled back to his home in Hasetsu. He achingly missed the singing of the sea against the shore and the delicate touch of the wind on his face. Memories of flowers' perfume, salty ocean breeze and puffy clouds in the bluest sky of all lulled him slowly. He was drifting asleep with a homebound heart again.

"Yuuri?"

The Japanese opened his eyes which shone in the dark with a touch of moonlight on their surface. He turned to face Pichit.

"Please, promise you'll think about it."

"I will," Yuuri said. He didn't mean a single word as he rolled to the wall and closed his eyes.

* * *

 _ **A/N: Thanks to JballinR12 for being an aswesome beta. And THANK you for reading so far!**_


	3. Chapter 3

**The fitting model III**

* * *

Yuuri struggled to find his keys as he carried his groceries bags. He searched in his back pocket one last time before he found a pair of copper keys that shone in the light as if it were a divine item. He opened the door with clumsy fingers before the door made a click that sounded as music to his ears. The young Japanese ran quickly to the kitchen table where he dropped the bags with a sigh of relief and slightly crumped arms.

He cleaned the sweat from his forehead and massaged his pained arms for a while. Yuuri was never the kind of strong guy back in Hasetsu. In fact, he often was teased by his sister who in a mocking way would carry at least twice the weight he was able to stand every time they helped her mother with the groceries.

Yuuri smiled sadly at the memory. He had been five years away from home and he often found himself remembering his home country. In the spring he dreamed about Sakura flowers dancing in the soft breeze and their perfume would seduce his nostrils in a bitter memory. If he closed his eyes he could get loose and dance around streets covered in a rug of pink petals and morning dew and at the distance ocean waves would create music for him to encompass his dance.

One more year, he reminded himself. One year until he could finish his major and go back to Japan. His eyes shone immediately. One can be indeed happy in a foreign land, chasing dreams and succeed, but one can never truly forget his roots and past.

He loved New York and its smoky cold air, the diversity of people living there, the never ending nights and the magic on the streets one would often see in movies. It was a modern fairy tale City every person dreamed of, but sometimes, something as simple as an apple could bring tears to his eyes. Even fruit lacked the smell it had in the country side and his shared department did lack the home feeling.

He sometimes wondered if Pichit felt like that as well.

A strong smell of roses ended his daydreams as its sweet trace called him. He walked towards the living room. It was the fourth bouquet he had gotten in a week. At least a dozen of pink roses and many lilies of the valley wrapped in a baby pink silk ribbon.

"They mean 'please believe me, I'm incomplete without you'" a voice stated from the sofa.

Yuuri jumped in his place.

"Pichit! You scared me!" He put a hand over his chest, trying to steady his heart beat.

The Thai shrugged.

"You should call the Italian already Yuuri. If this goes on we'll choke on flowers very soon."

Yuuri wouldn't say it loud, but his friend was right. He needed to stop the fiasco as soon as possible.

* * *

Yuuri decided to call Alessi the next morning. Pichit lent him his iphone because Yuuri's old device, a treasure for a museum as Pichit often joked, didn't have speakers. The Thai sat by his side as nervous and anxious as Yuuri was. Pichit held his right arm while his left held the phone in front them. Every second that went by in wait killed his courage. He was about to hung up when a voice answered at the other side of the line.

"Ciao, it's Michael Alessi."

"H-hello, I'm Yuuri Katsuki. We met at Lombardi's last week..."

"Yuuri, it's nice to talk to you! Did you make your decision already?"

"I have. I'd like to talk with you about it. By any chance do you have time on Tuesday to discuss it further?"

"Let me see…" there was a noise of papers and a keyboard in the background "Does seven o'clock sound good?"

"Yes, it does."

"Perfect. I'll send you a message with the address and directions tomorrow. Thank you so much for calling. Bye-bye."

Both adults stood their ground in silence even when the call had ended and the phone blocked itself.

"I can't believe I just did that…"

"Me neither…"

Yuuri stared at his friend angrily.

"Can you erase those embarrassing pictures now? I already fulfilled my part of the agreement."

Pichit took his phone close to his heart. He sometimes did big sacrifices for his Japanese friend. The Thai went directly to his gallery in deleted a whole album with 1 GB of memories. A tear was falling from the corners of his eyes as the last notification popped up. He hoped with all his heart Yuuri became rich and famous so all that wreaking drama was worth.

* * *

Yuuri had crossed out his calendar the following days as a reminder of a coming disaster. Five tortuous days slipped through his fingers as water and he was getting extremely close to a panic attack.

He left home at six dressed as normal as he always did no matter how much begging Pichit had did for him to do otherwise. It was part of his plan. If the Italian saw how awful and untasteful he was, there was no doubt Alessi would never hire him.

The got in a taxi to downtown and lost himself reading each license plate of every car that passed nearby. Sometimes one could really find funny messages on them and it was a good way to take his stress away.

The car parked in front of an impressive corporative building. A few eyes fell on him as he talked to the receptionist. A few whispers joined him as he made his way to the elevator and he was grateful his glasses hid most of his face. He had to keep his anxiety at bay for forty two floors as he was the last person to leave.

Alessi was already waiting for him in front of crystal doors.

The Italian shook his hand and did some pleasantries.

"I don't normally do this, but my boss insisted we wanted to see you personally. His name is Viktor Nikiforov."

"Y-your boss?"

"Yes, I'm afraid we don't have time to spare in explanations. He's waiting for you in his office."

Yuuri was practically dragged to a marble door at the end of a never ending corridor. It looked creepy or perhaps, it didn't but he thought so.

Yuuri breathed in as if it were the last air his lungs would ever take before he pushed the door open.

The city lights entered the window and the scene by itself was worth painting. Blue, red and yellow played on the wood of the desk and the crystals from an elegant chandelier brought sparks on every single wall. It was almost magical.

A crack on the leather chair behind the desk brought him back to reality. He hadn't come all that way to admire the landscape.

"Excuse me, were you looking for me Mr. Nikiforov?"

The chair turned around very slow, tortuously slow.

"Don't be so formal Yuuri, it makes me feel old!"

The Japanese man had never been blessed with a great sight. In fact, he was nearsighted and since he was a child he had to wear ugly glasses. However, his sight problems didn't stop him to recognize the celestial silver hair falling in straight waterfalls in front him. His eyes opened as plates and his mouth created a perfect o shape. Yuuri bet he looked rather stupid.

"Y-y-it's you!"

"Of course it's me. Who else could I be?"

Everything was so surreal. Yuuri knew his luck was a bitch, but even for once it was way too much to bear. Perhaps he was being a victim of those hidden camera programs?

"You, the Italian, the flowers… W-why-?!"

"Oh, I asked Alessi to give them to you. He and I often work together. I always tell him what kind of model I want and he finds them. Alessi never disappoints me, as you can see," he started to laugh.

In his catatonic state, Yuuri only heard loose words but didn't comprehend anything. He felt as overwhelmed as his first day in the United States.

Yuuri cleared his throat, trying desperately trying to get attention without using his rather unreliable voice.

"Shory, but me no model," Yuuri slapped himself mentally. It seemed a curse fell over him every time he needed to show his best speech. If his English teacher could hear him he might be taking a horrendous speaking workshop again.

"Awwwwww, I love your accent Yuuri!"

"Mr. Nikiforov…"

"Viktor"

"Huh?"

"Call me Viktor"

"Umm, OK… V-Viktoruu," the silver haired Russian nodded, gladly enjoying his name in a foreign accent.

Yuuri closed his eyes a moment. It wasn't the time to chicken out.

"V-Viktor… I came to turn down your offer. I'm not interested in modeling. I thank you for the flowers and I really appreciate the time you invested in…"

The black haired man couldn't finish. A hand squeezed his left arm quite painfully and when his eyes met Viktor's his friendly façade was suddenly gone. Something in his eyes changed and he felt the need to take a few steps back, away from that person.

"Yuuri, dear Yuuri…" the Russian walked towards him as if he were a predator cornering his prey. Yuuri swallowed so hard that he could feel the way his own Adam apple danced inside him.

"You know Yuuri… In a way you and I are similar," the Russian touched his cheek with the softest caress of feather hands. As a magic trick, his drawing book appeared in the man's right hand. Yuuri hadn't found the item in several days and he had thought he had left it in a subway station in his way home. He had looked everywhere for it. His precious sketches, his poems and his drawing of the silver haired man in Central Park… Viktor had seen it all and he couldn't be more mortified.

"We both create art. You create it in your drawings and I…" he paused, a long seconds that felt like years as he got closer "… craft over human bodies" Viktor whispered huskily in his ear as he licked every trace of skin deliciously displayed for him.

Yuuri shivered from head to toe. A thunder stroke all the way through his spine and his face turned the most beautiful crimson nature could ever afford.

"Vi-V-Viktor, stop!" the Japanese man pushed him away.

Yuuri's chest fell and rose in a chaotic dance, one Viktor could only see and marvel from afar. It was unfair to have such a temptation and not taint it with his sinful hands and lips.

"You are a diamond Yuuri. You just need a little polishing and that's it. If you let me, I can do that for you," the Russian extended the drawing book and Yuuri retrieved with doubt. The man smiled at his shyness.

"Why me? I'm an average person. You can find more outstanding people anywhere. I'm fat, I have brown eyes and my height is pretty normal. You certainly look someone interesting for this kind of things."

The Russian sighed tiredly, gaining patience to explain himself further.

"Dear Yuuri, you can buy art supplies almost anywhere but sadly I can't buy a muse. The day you threw that horrendous bag at me it felt so refreshing. Never in my life had someone showed that rebel energy. Your eyes were a whirlwind I couldn't escape from and the moment they met mine I knew you were what I was looking for. Models can be beautiful physically, but I want someone with a soul. You are all I need."

Yuuri froze in his place. Was that man asking him to become his muse? Perhaps he did need to clean his ears right away. He remembered that day a couple weeks ago, when he drew the very same person in front him in a bench of Central Park. Viktor looked so angelical to be part of this world. Yuuri couldn't assimilate someone so outstanding could see art in a worldly person as him. Then he looked up and his eyes met the most pure blue he had seen since the sea of Hasetsu.

"A fitting model is a more important role than a cat walker. I will design clothes and you will help me test them so we can know what to do to improve them. Clothes are more than a beautiful piece of fabric. They are art and an expression from the soul."

The shine in his eyes danced as ocean waves nearing the shore. It was if a siren were singing for him, slowly attracting Yuuri to his beautiful death.

"Let me prove you fashion can be art. Be my muse Yuuri," he extended a hand for the younger man, soft snow white skin displaying in an erotic sight. The black haired man stared hard upon those precious large fingers in front him. His hand moved to his own and he retrieved several times before he could touch the indeed silky skin of the Russian man.

"I'll do it," Yuuri said with no doubt in his words.

The black haired man saw how a lovely heart shaped smile decorated Viktor's face. It was angelical and his heart melt at the sight.

"Amazing! Then you just need to sign here, here and here," the Russian said excited as he pointed at different places in a couple sheets that popped from his desk.

"You already had a contract done?!"

"Of course, I'm always ready for business!" the silver haired man winked at him.

Yuuri sighed.

"I hope you don't mind if I take my time to read it."

"Not at all! Meanwhile, would you like champagne?"

"No thanks, I don't drink."

Viktor widened his heart shaped smile as he walked towards his small collection of champagne bottles.

Yuuri heard a pop from a bottle and then the pouring of alcohol against glass.

"Vi-Viktor…"

"Yes?"

"Is this number correct?"

The Russian walked next to him and looked over the paper. After a few seconds he nodded.

"Is it less than you expected? Normally we pay more according to the experience and fame, but since you will be the fitting we can high up the…"

"No! It's the other way around! It's more than I ever thought..." he confessed completely ashamed. All his part time jobs together in the five years he had been in New York weren't even half of the quantity written on the contract. With that money he could buy new supplies and maybe visit his family in the summer break.

Yuuri looked for small letters at the bottom of every page. He found himself marveling that he wasn't asked a lot, just privacy about the clothes and… His hand took the Montblanc pen Viktor offered. It was as if the man was capable of reading his mind.

Yuuri signed in a perfect calligraphy, as meticulously as his kanji writing.

"Now you are a fitting model for Dior! Isn't it exciting?! I can't wait to drape a few designs on you!"

Yuuri started to question his own sanity. Had it been alright to sign?

"However, there's a little problem…"

Yuuri gulped, feeling nervous once again.

"You do need to lose some weight," a shiver ran down Yuuri's spine "As much as I think your piggy face is cute you need to be a standard size for our clothes. Tomorrow we'll start you food regime and a good gym. Alessi will tell you all the details."

If Yuuri had the right to choose between The Devil and the Russian. He would've chosen the Devil over and over again.


	4. Chapter 4

**The fitting model IV**

* * *

Alessi picked Yuuri up the very next morning, but the last Yuuri expected was to be taken to a cosmetic surgery hospital. He knew his body was not an ideal type, but attending such a place was overwhelming. He used to think only famous and very rich people could afford such things. Somehow, Yuuri knew he was leaving his old life behind him in a blur.

The hospital was like a horror house with a white fancy disguise. There were hundreds of before-after pictures in endless white corridors that honestly scared him to death. Yuuri was a teenager by the time he heard the story of a Korean model that got so obsessed over plastic surgeries to the point she destroyed her own face. He swore he would never do the same but then destiny slapped him.

Alessi guided him to the reception where Yuuri was asked to fill all his information. He went through lots of papers and got a bit of help from his agent when it was necessary. His hand was shaking slightly and a little of black ink leaked in the borders of the nationality section.

They sat in silence while a documentary was shown. An actor, a bad one, dressed in doctor outfit explained with a fake smile the benefits of liposuction. A woman was marked as an animal in several places and doctors extracted fat with a giant needle. The more Yuuri watched, the more he shuddered. Perhaps it was a cruel method to kill him with anxiety. It seemed an appropriate moment to run away when his name was called, but he was stopped by the Italian in a matter of seconds. Alessi smiled at him as a father would to his child. It was like a perfect scene of a little boy getting an injection, only in his case it was far worse. After some comfort words, Alessi assured Yuuri wouldn't be done any procedure without his consent.

Yuuri then followed a nurse with huge unnatural breasts and a nose so perfect that made her look like a playboy model. Alessi was by his side in complete silence as they crossed the crystal doors.

The room was incredibly neat and smelled like a mix of disinfectant and plastic. A desk laid next to the window where sunlight entered subtly through barely closed blinds. Every wall had diplomas hanging, some from years ago and some dated from barely a few months. However, it didn't make things easier, at all.

The doctor stood up from his chair and offered a hand to both men.

"Dr. Seung Gil, nice to meet you," the man said, voice sounding methodical and devoid of emotion "Please take a seat."

Yuuri did as he was told. The chair was extremely comfortable but it made a funny sound of leather. He was thankful for the subtle distraction. Otherwise, he would've been beyond mortified to hold the methodical eyes of the doctor before him.

"So, Mr. Katsuki, have you had any procedure before?"

"T-there was this time with wisdom tooth b-but I'm not sure if it counts and…"

"He's never had any cosmetic intervention," Alessi interrupted before he embarrassed himself even more, "In fact, we came for an assessment. Yuuri is about to start modeling, and we need to get him in shape for the profession."

Seung Gil nodded in understanding.

"Can you stand up there, please?"

The Japanese did as he was told. For the briefest moment, he felt like a baby that was learning to walk.

The doctor was by his side in a few seconds. He touched his cheeks with gloved hands and moved his head in every possible angle, some nearing the painful. Then he lifted his shirt and the young Japanese felt the cold air touching his pale skin. Then his belly was attacked with methodical fingers throughout his chubby surface.

"A liposuction is necessary. We can also have a buccal fat extraction, apply some Botox to his lips and perhaps think of a brow lift to…"

Yuuri stopped following the moment liposuction was mentioned. He wasn't scared of the procedure itself but about the implications, it would have in his life. He was a believer of natural beauty. Even if he wasn't outstanding enough to be shown in magazine covers he had a cute face for which he was proud.

The voices in the room sounded alien to his ears. Yuuri floundered and almost fainted when he looked down at his own feet.

"Yuuri, are you fine?" Alessi asked, worry evident in his voice.

He raised his head from his legs. The artificial light blinded the black-haired man with brutal force. Everything was a dense fog in his eyes and the sounds drifted further away after each erratic heartbeat. Yuuri had a few anxiety attacks from time to time. If they happened, Pichit was always by his side, rubbing his back. He missed his friend so badly.

"I-I don't want any surgery or such things. C-can I have a food regime instead?"

The room became suddenly taciturn. Seconds passed in slow motion. Perhaps it took a whole minute of two before a voice broke the silence.

"As you wish. Not so often we see a client who wants to diet and exercise instead of surgery," Seung Gil's mouth moved into a smile. It was a bit cold and awkward but a smile anyway. "It will take a lot of effort and a couple of months but there is a rate of 90% of succeeding if you have a strong will. "

"Please let me diet," he replied with the surest words he had ever said in his life.

* * *

Yuuri and Alessi walked in comfortable silence towards the last office in the corridor. People ran all over the place in a chaotic dance. Papers, clothes, and shoes dyed colorfully every corner as they knocked the door.

Viktor looked at least ten years older. Huge bags under his eyes, red nose and the roots of silver gray beard that popped in his face like flowers blooming in the spring.

"Morning Vitya, busy day, isn't it?"

"The cruise collection will be released next week. Of course, there's a lot of work left!"

"Relax kid, do you want a coffee?"

Viktor sighed. A lovely black ink mark was left in his face where his hand rested. Katsuki debated inside his mind the words to explain Viktor he had painted himself with a dripped pen.

"An Americano, please."

Alessi nodded as he walked to the coffee table.

"What about you, Yuuri?"

"N-no, thanks."

Viktor's head whipped extremely fast to Yuuri's direction. The Japanese felt slightly offended. He knew he wasn't exactly eye-catching, but he was just a few inches away from his new boss. As the matter of fact, in front him.

"Yuuri~ how did your assessment go? Will you start modeling next season? Are you more comfortable if your surgeries are in Japan?"

The younger man sweated as a chill ran down his spine. He tried to speak but not a single word came out. He gaped like a fish out of the sea. Katsuki was a couple seconds away from another panic attack. Alessi appeared next to them with a mug in his hands.

The Russian took mug immediately. The heat of the beverage warmed his hands and the strong smell of coffee beans was a true bliss.

"Kiddo, I would rest if I were you," Alessi said as a warning, "Yakov lost his hair for the lack of sleep. And you're following his very same pattern…"

Something broke on the floor and Yuuri soon realize it was the one Viktor held a few seconds ago. The Russian's face was priceless. It had a mix between fear and realization. His skin was beyond pale, almost ghostly.

"NOOOOOOOO!" the silver haired man yelled at the top of his lungs. Warm tears built up in the corners of his eyes as his feet swayed in desperation. "I'm too young and painfully single to be bald!"

"Chill out, your hair is as impeccable as always. I'm just kidding," the Italian patted Viktor's back.

The young Japanese stood in silence as a cheerful talk filled the air with words that didn't reach his ears. Viktor was extremely beautiful, yet he had complexes as anyone else. Viktor Nikiforov, an almost Beauty God.

"Yuuri?" the silver haired man asked, the u's in his name as sweet as honey.

The Japanese stood his ground, barely holding the shaking in his hands.

"I-I won't have any cosmetic surgery," Yuuri looked up to those magnetic blue eyes. An indescribable spark enlightened them despite the gloom on the office "I will follow a strict diet and exercise. I appreciate the help you looked up for me but I'm a believer of natural beauty. I promise I will be in shape before next season fittings. Just like our contract stated. I will be the most professional model you've ever worked with!"

Viktor thought over the fashion bussiness for a second. Models had an extremely short time for the profession. Some only lasted a year. The lucky ones worked ten years. Looks were everything. Eternal youth and appeal was a fantasy fashion sold. He had seen countless beautiful faces yet Katsuki was already one of the most authentic models he had seen in his entire career. Something inside his chest swayed. Perhaps, it was life and love.

"Yuuri, that's… AMAZING!"

The Japanese found himself caged in a bear hug. His left cheeks rubbed against Viktor's right cheek.

"Do you see Alessi? I told you Yuuri wouldn't want surgeries! I won the bet!"

It was hard to associate the Russian with the serious looking man in the magazines. In real life, he was almost a child. If Viktor could be so professional, then the black haired man would be as well.

Suddenly the contact broke and a chilly aura surrounded the Japanese.

"Little piggy, I forbid you to enter this building and try new clothes until you lose at least thirty pounds and have the shape of a model," Viktor pinched his love handles painfully.

 _I should be offended_ Yuuri thought as the Russian waved goodbye.

At least Viktor still had a gorgeous pen stain in his face.

* * *

 _Think of the money, think of the goddamn_ money Yuuri repeated over and over again as a mantra. His stomach growled all day long as if it were angry with his new food regime. He often thought of a delicious steamy bowl of katsudon as he ate salads. It somehow helped to eat the tasteless ingredients. He imagined pork meat instead of lettuce and rice instead of cucumbers. If he tried hard enough, sometimes ingredients really tasted like katsudon. Pichit had told him more than once, as a friendly teasing, he looked like a starving dog. The Japanese had to disagree. A dog didn't salivate as much as he did.

The Japanese discovered the best friends were found in diet times. Pichit had stopped him every time he was anxious for some sugary food. The Thai even started a new diet to show support. There were really bad days in which Yuuri was in the ugliest mood. However, not even once Pichit left his side. They even complained together about diets. Yuuri was extremely thankful for his friend. He would buy the most expensive piece of clothing for Pichit. He deserved that and a special VIP place in heaven for his incredible actions.

Alessi paid a whole month in a fancy Gym with a personal trainer in downtown Manhattan. The first day, Yuuri thought he was entering the deepest corner of hell as he was directed so many dirty looks. The place looked expensive and the mere fact of taking a breath inside probably was a reason enough to add a charge to a phantom bill. His trainer, an Italian man named Celestino immediately understood his fears and took him to a private section where the chubby Japanese could train in peace.

The Italian certainly was kind and caring but once he began instructing a new routine he became Devil itself. Yuuri then feared Italians more than his sister in 'those days of the month'. The man had no compassion and made him sweat until he looked with less dignity than a pig.

Everywhere he went he heard gossip about his chubby body and it made his anxiety grow. His stomach fat jumped every time he moved in the abdominal bench. By the fourth day, he stopped caring. He just put his earphones at the highest volume and did his cardio.

The third month he was finishing his work out in the lat pull down machine when his eyes found his reflection in the mirror wall. He was sweaty, his hair messy, but the person who greeted him was attractive and secure. The Japanese stood up and came close to the mirror. His face was skinnier, his arms had soft masculine muscles and his stomach was flat and hard as a rock.

Yuuri smiled at himself. Perhaps he wasn't so ugly after all.

* * *

 **A/N: Sorry for the wait! These months have been extremely hectic! I'm working on my thesis and it's taking all my free time and inspiration away. I updated in a rush and I didn't check the chapter, again. Sorry.**

 **Thanks for your patience and support so far!**


	5. Chapter 5

**The fitting model V**

* * *

In a catwalk, the designer's main goal was glamour, a worthy fantasy to sell. Attractive people walked a clear polished floor with lights highlighting the aesthetics defined by a brand. Magazines always displayed perfectly photoshopped faces and bodies to die for. The fantasy itself went over the wildest dreams and created the misconception that models always wore makeup and nice clothes. However, Yuuri had the shock of his life, once more, the very moment he met at least thirty different models with no makeup on. All existing skin tones, body shapes and all imaginable features were on display in their natural state. They were scruffy and clearly jet lagged. Some even slept behind clothing racks looking like any average person would do on their basis.

Yuuri could see for the first time that those perfect beings had imperfections as well. Some got scars hidden under several layers of fancy clothes, others got subtle red acne marks and some even had almost invisible stretch marks on their bellies. They looked… plainly normal, like any teenager or adult in their early twenties. They starved, they felt tired, they got thirsty, they felt an agonizing pain from broken ampoules on their feet after wearing heels for a long time. They even looked scared when they had to step on the catwalk. What if they fell? Their fragile career would be ruined in the blink of an eye. They could stand the pain wrenching their ankles but never the shame and laughs among the public. Their success and term on the fashion industry depended on their ability to play and their strength to hold onto.

Most models were blond Russians who barely spoke a word of English. They were way too young and at some point, the hall looked like a High School rather than a fashion venue. Yuuri could only stare each one of the models in awe to the beautiful, yet tired faces and body complexions. He looked really short by their side, really overweighed even. He wondered until what point it was healthy for a human, model or not, to lose weight. Yuuri couldn't believe displaying one's bones with barely a thin layer of flesh covering them was beautiful or healthy. It was terrifying to see the sorrow in their eyes whenever freshly made food was put on the table for photographers to take. Yuuri had starved in the past when he needed to save money for fees. In those times, his stomach was always in pain and growling like an animal desperate for food. How could someone willingly hurt themselves over and over again like that?

Yuuri breathed slowly, holding the air in his lungs as if it had the courage he needed. Everyone chose the path and way of living they wanted. He may not agree with their destructive tendencies and food regime but he was no one to criticize others. He himself was an anxious man without a single outstanding talent. Just a bore with enough luck to stand in the place he currently was.

Yuuri made his way toward Viktor's office. The journey reminded him of a steeplechase. Every two steps there was something he had to either avoid or jump. But instead of having fun, his nerves wrecked further. Every single item in the building probably costed more than all of his organs together. If he broke anything, he couldn't afford to pay it with… Well, perhaps he could. Old habits die hard.

Yuuri was three feet away from the door when he crashed, nose first with a moving item. His eyes caught a blur of black, gold and brown mixed in a messy pattern before he found himself on the floor.

"Hey, watch your step idiot!" someone yelled at his left. The voice sounded young and slightly feminine, like the one from a soprano in a chorus. The teen was so ethereal and his tone innocent. It was a shame how hard words and a thick accent hid the grace it naturally had. It was simply wrong.

"I-I'm sorry, I wasn't paying attention," Yuuri made sure to offer his hand to help the stranger stand. In answer to his offer, his hand was pushed away by another. The sound of flesh hitting flesh was loud in the busy hallway, attracting glances from several curious people nearby.

"No shit, you don't say," came a harsh answer.

The japanese blinked several times. The guy was barely a teen and he already sounded as dangerous as a criminal on the streets. The young blond wore animal print from head to toe and it was almost unbelievable how a pretty boy could speak such words. The longer the teenager stared at him, the more Yuuri felt like running away from such intense turquoise eyes.

"Yuri!" an assistant called from the other side of the hallway, saving him from the punk blond. The black-haired man excused himself with a reverence before walking away, though he decided it was pointless. His heartbeat was erratic and he was not sure if it was for the work or the moody boy he crashed into. Probably both.

"Here!" he shouted, though another voice answered at the same time, an oddly yet quite familiar one. He turned his eyes to the left. There stood the boy with animal print next to him. A moment later their shoulders brushed against each other. Yuuri immediately remembered that time years ago when he watched The Exorcist movie. The child possessed by the evil had spun her neck around in a creepy way that made him scream at the top of his lungs. Then, the punk teen had done something alike that sent a shiver down his spine.

"You again, can't you just get the fuck outta here?!"

Yuuri gulped hard.

"I-I ha-have work here," he explained himself, though his words came shakier than intended.

"You can clean the floor later, asshole. Only models can cross that door now."

A cough finished their pleasant conversation abruptly. They both stared at the assistant by the door. She arched a perfect eyebrow and hit the wood with her long-polished nails.

"Yuri Plisetsky, it's your turn for the photoshoot," she said.

"About damn time," the teen held a triumphal grin before stepping on the room. The blond even stood taller as a peacock displaying its feathers. The door was mostly closed when the assistant stopped.

"Yuuri Katsuki, the fitting session starts in an hour. You can sit over there in the meantime," she offered, it seemed she had a little pity for him after all. He was about to thank her when he was interrupted.

"THE FUCK YOU'RE THE FITTING."

Yuuri walked backwards and the teen followed forward. Every step the japanese gave felt heavier. It looked like a lion that cornered its prey. It felt dangerous and very scary. Then his back hit a wall and there was nowhere to run away.

"I don't know why the fuck Viktor would choose a piece of shit like you for that job but I'm pretty sure there is place for only one Yuri in the fashion world," the blond took the hem of his shirt and raised Yuuri an inch from the floor. His feet winged in despair for a second. "A fatso like you will never last in this industry so get away now, LOOSER!" The teenager yelled at his face. A second later Yuuri stood on his shaky feet as the door crashed closed.

He had just got in the industry and he already was hated.

Just perfect.

* * *

An hour and half later, the blond came out the room. Yuuri was sure that if the assistant wasn't there, he would be hit by the teen any moment. As soon as the teen was away, not after a threaten glance over him, Yuuri almost ran to the room and closed the door behind him carefully. The room was even busier than outside. Tailors wore lab coats while the other people dressed in casual black. Racks full of unfinished clothing stood everywhere along colorful shoes on the floor.

"Yuuri! I am impressed with your weight loss, you look amazing!" Viktor shouted from his place. A big and comfy couch in a corner of the room. The japanese had no time to reply because a ball of brown fur ran across the floor towards him. He found himself on the floor for the second time on the day but by a thoroughly different reason.

Yuuri laughed as he was licked all over the face by a lovely poodle. He scratched behind her ears and her paws moved in contentment.

"Makka! Bad girl, get off him!" Viktor ordered the dog. The weight over him disappeared shortly after and a hand stood before him. Yuuri took it with a thankful smile.

"I'm sorry Yuuri. Makkachin is very well behaved but it seems she likes you just as much as I do," he winked at him. Yuuri's cheeks dyed a beautiful crimson. Viktor was such a teaser.

"You should stop bringing her over, she could destroy something at some point you know," the assistant said with a serious tone.

Viktor brought a hand to his heart, dramatic stance.

"Mila, how could you say something like that, Makka will be hurt! Makka, don't listen to her, I know my baby girl would never do something bad and…"

"Whatever. By the way, I'm Mila. Viktor's assistant. I'm sorry for the late meeting."

"I-it's OK. Thank you for your help earlier, with… you know."

"No problem. Yura can be a pain in the ass sometimes but he's very professional. Don't mind him, keep your distance and you'll be alright," he doubted so, but kept quiet.

"Now, there's no time to waste," Viktor stopped crying, as if something in his brain had switched to another mood. Suddenly the childish russian was gone, replaced by a responsible boss.

"Please, take your clothes off and put this outfit," Viktor said as he held a jacket and pants on a hanger.

"WHAT? I-in here?"

Everyone turned to stare him carefully. The silence was becoming unbearable second after second.

"Easy guys, he's new. I'm sure he'll get used to it in no time," Mila said, "There is a changer room over there. Feel free to use it," She winked at him.

Yuuri was thankful to the deity that took pity on him. The work was already hard with so many people staring him. He could not stand the shame of being naked in the middle of the room as the day he was born.

* * *

The sky was dark and the street lights on when Viktor finished doing arrangements for the day. In a shift of eight hours Yuuri had only tried a jacket and pants. The Japanese never thought there were so many ways to wear those clothes that looked so simple to his eyes. Symmetry or asymmetry. Short, medium or long. Sexy or formal. The options were a world by themselves.

Yuuri's feet ached terribly inside his shoes due to the eight hours standing and a cramp threatened to come to his arms as he finally put them down to his sides. His nerves were wrecked after listening to breaking fabric and the hurt of pins all over his body. He also was a bit cold and his nose turned red.

He had been taken a photoshoot at the end in which he was sure he looked as bad as in his passport picture but smiled anyways.

"V-Viktor?"

"Yes Yuuri?"

"Is all your collection going to be white?"

"Huh?"

"I mean, everything I have seen so far is white. Even the clothes hanging in the racks are white so…"

Viktor stared him for a while. A long minute went by in silence and one could cut it with a knive. Suddenly, Viktor burst laughing whole heartily.

"Not a single thing is going to be white dear Yuuri! What you see now are only the molds. Once we are sure they look nice and comfy, the clothes are sewn in real fabrics and motifs. It's a complicated procedure but it's worth it all at the end."

Yuuri's face dyed with a bloody crimson.

"I-I'm sorry. I didn't know anything of the molds or the real thing a-and I…"

The Russian kissed his bare left shoulder with care. Yuuri jumped at the surprise and he was about to step back when Viktor's thumb drew circles on his cheek. A shiver ran all the way down Yuuri's back and, for the briefest moment, Yuuri felt as a porcelain doll worshiped in the hands of an artisan.

The blue in Viktor's eyes was a perfect mix of heaven, ice, sea and diamonds. Warm, yet cold. Changing as the seasons according to the angle they were observed. Yuuri could stay forever to count the stars he saw in those eyes. His silver lashes were long and delicate to shield Viktor's soul with blessing beauty.

"You did a wonderful job, Yuuri. I can't wait to try more designs on you."

The black-haired man smiled as his heart skipped a beat.

Viktor seemed spellbound. Eyes full of adoration. Time wasn't an issue when Yuuri looked back at him with the most delicious chocolate eyes in the world.

Makkachin barked loudy at Viktor's feet, craving for attention. Her tail swung happily on the floor and the russian blinked as if he had just woken up from a dream.

"Oh, sorry. You must be tired. Please go home and rest. We'll see you in two days."

Yuuri nodded shyly. As Viktor moved away all warmth faded away. Yuuri shivered. The clothes barely covered his skin and the cold gave him goosebumps.

"There is a jacket in the changing room. Please take it, your clothes are useless in this weather."

Yuuri was thankful to indeed find the jacket. In the morning, he thought it was a matter of a few hours to be finished with the job. He expected to be back home at four but his phone indicated it was past ten. The chilling of the night created a fog that hid most of the buildings a few miles around. The jacket was just his size and it had the most beautiful blue color he had seen on any fabric.

Viktor was gone by the time he finished dressing himself. He was touched for the trust his boss put on him. The Japanese made sure to turn the lights off as he went out. He checked out in the main hall in a few minutes and took a cab.

A few missed calls from Pichit were waiting for his answer and he shuddered. When Pichit wished so, he became a strict father. It didn't matter Yuuri was older, Pichit still considered himself a parent of his. And apparently, he was going to kill him.

Yuuri put his phone in the left pocket of the jacket. His hand found an object in its way. Something he didn't remember was there. He pulled it out and a beautiful yet unreal rose seemed to bloom in the middle of the gray streets. A magnificent blue one with a tag with his name written.

A blush covered his face in pink dust and warm feelings. Maybe, at the very core of his mind, Yuuri was enjoying the experience more than he was willing to accept.

* * *

 _ **A/N: Thank you from the bottom of my heart for your sweet words and support. You've won a place in the Victuuri heaven.** **Merry X-mas and happy Viktor's birthday to all of you!**_


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